


Trick Psychology

by starsoverhead



Category: Criminal Minds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-27
Updated: 2012-07-27
Packaged: 2017-11-10 20:50:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/470547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsoverhead/pseuds/starsoverhead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trapped in an elevator with the power out, Hotch asks Reid why he's afraid of the dark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trick Psychology

**Author's Note:**

> This work contains references to Diana Reid's mental illness which brings on unintentional child abuse. There is also a reference to Hotch's possibly-canon abusive childhood. (Also there might be a little bit of shipping if you squint.)

The elevator lights flickered and the entire car shuddered and Reid was immediately assaulted by memories of the rickety elevator states away, where Morgan had pounded on buttons and he, himself, had squeaked Hotch’s name.  The only thing that kept him from it this time was knowing that Hotch was standing less than a yard away.  They both were staring up at the light panel on the ceiling when it went dark and the car stopped, stranding them in pitch dark.  
  
“Reid?”  
  
“I’m okay,” he lied, aware Hotch would hear the quaver in his voice.  He tended to doubt strange elevators after that incident in Oregon, and when that was compounded with the purest kind of darkness, it left him nearly shivering.  This, at least, was only a small hotel where they were staying after a prisoner interview - he didn’t have to worry about plummeting far to his death.  Just a few floors.  
  
He could hear Hotch moving though he couldn’t see a thing, and to try to give him room, Reid moved until he was in the rear corner, a hand on each rail.  He could hear Hotch’s briefcase being placed on the floor and reminded himself that he wasn’t alone.  It was dark, but he wasn’t alone.  His mind sought for some kind of reassurance and landed on the Bene Gesserit litany against fear.  _I must not fear.  Fear is the mind-killer.  Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration_ …  Eyes closing, he focused on the words and on lowering his pulse rate.  
  
“It figures that this thing wouldn’t even have a functioning security light,” Hotch muttered as he sought blindly through his briefcase.  Finding the floor and figuring out which way to open it had been easy.  Finding the little LED flashlight he’d gotten for free the last time he’d visited the hardware store was hard.  His fingers finally touched it, under a few file folders, and he clicked the button at the back to turn it on.  
  
The light didn’t flood the elevator car, by any means, but it did provide a shaft of ridiculously pure white light that showed Hotch how far back into the corner Reid had managed to hide.  Once again, he was amazed at how little space someone who stood an inch taller than him could take up.  “Reid?  Reid—”  
  
Spencer blinked, pulling himself out of the words that had become his mantra.  “Yeah— Yeah, I’m…  What is it?”  
  
“Can you hold the flashlight for me while I get the emergency phone?”  
  
Old psychology and both of them knew it.  Give someone a duty and it would take their mind off of the fear at hand.  But Reid nodded, accepting the offered flashlight and aiming the beam at the box below the panel.  
  
Hotch crouched, opening the panel to access the phone.  Reid barely heard the conversation, focused as he was on keeping his hand still.  He didn’t want the light to tremble and give away how anxious their situation had left him, but soon Hotch was standing, the phone back in the cradle, and his expression was clear:  he wasn’t pleased.  
  
“What was it?” Spencer asked, betraying his own ignorance but also offering a chance for Hotch to vent.  
  
“They’d just found out at the front desk.  An eighteen-wheeler ran into one of the major electric substations outside of town.  It was a tanker and they’re afraid it’s going to start leaking chemicals.  We’re a low priority for now.”  His voice was low and frustrated.  “So we’re going to be here for a while.”  
  
Reid closed his eyes.  “Great.”  Just exactly what he needed to make this day even better.  Shoulders slumping, he slid down the wall until he was seated with his back wedged into the corner.  “At least these LED flashlights last forever.”  
  
Watching Reid, Hotch sat in the opposite corner.  He thought he’d heard a rumour about Reid being afraid of the dark.  Now it was being confirmed in front of him.  Reid was very precise with how he placed the flashlight so it aimed at the slightly-reflective doors, adding a bit of light to the entire elevator car, first drawing Hotch’s briefcase over so he could use the handle, propping the flashlight so it would hit the reflective surface at an angle.  
  
Geometry.  By angling the light source he could reflect more of the light into the room, thus brightening the entire area.  For a moment, Hotch almost smiled.  It was rare any of them could fathom Reid’s thought processes until he explained his actions, but in a situation like this, his reasoning was obvious.  
  
“Good work,” he said softly.  
  
Reid almost startled, looking up from the flashlight to see Hotch across the way.  “Good— Huh?”  
  
“The flashlight.  I wouldn’t have thought of doing that.”  
  
“Oh.”  Despite it all, Spencer felt himself starting to smile.  When it came down to it, it was meaningless, but he couldn’t help but smile.  Psychology again.  Hotch was complimenting him to ease his nerves.  And once more, despite knowing it was a trick, it was working.  “Thanks.”  
  
Hotch gave him a nod.  “You’re welcome.”  
  
“Did they—…  Did they have any idea of how long it would take?”  
  
“Not really.  It’ll probably get pretty warm in here.”  It wasn’t sealed, so they wouldn’t have a problem with oxygen, but eventually the warmth would build up.  Their body heat, the warmth of their exhalations - the two of them sitting on the floor already was probably a good idea.  
  
Reid, with a preemptive sigh, reached for the hem of his sweater vest and pulled it over his head, then loosened his tie.  “Well.  Now I’m prepared.”  
  
Apparently Hotch thought it was a good idea as he did the same with his suit jacket and tie, showing the collar of a plain white T-shirt beneath.  Somehow, that didn’t surprise Reid at all.  Hotch really was the T-shirt type.  Now, however, wasn’t the time to occupy his mind with thoughts of undergarments.  He just needed to calm down, to let his mind relax instead of keep turning over and over on the fact that he was in a little dark box.  
  
Spencer wasn’t sure just how long had passed when he heard Hotch ask, “Why?”  
  
“Why?” he returned.  “Why what?”  
  
“Why are you afraid of the dark?”  
  
The answer came automatically.  “Because it’s the inherent absence of light.”  But when he looked up, Hotch was watching him, staring evenly at him, and Reid knew he’d seen through the answer for what it truly was.  Too easy.  He swallowed, not wanting to face the memories, but Hotch wasn’t going to let him look away from them.  
  
After a deep, shaky breath, he started to talk.  “There’s… a poem.  It wasn’t really in Mom’s normal purview as it wasn’t from medieval literature, but it… came up sometimes.  It’s by Lord Byron - George Gordon - and it’s called Darkness.  _I had a dream, which was not all a dream.  The bright sun was extinguish’d, and the stars did wander darkling in the eternal space, rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth swung blind and blackening in the moonless air; morn came and went — and came, and brought no day, and men forgot their passions in the dread of this their desolation; and all hearts were chill’d into a selfish prayer for light_ …”  
  
Spencer recited the poem hollowly, the tone getting to Hotch even as he heard it.  The words, coupled with the vacancy behind Reid’s eyes, bothered him, but he’d asked.  It behooved him to hear the answer.  
  
“Mom had episodes,” Reid went on, voice faint.  “She was bad at remembering to take her medications while I was at school and sometimes I would come home to find her in the thick of an episode.  Sometimes they weren’t so bad.  Sometimes she’d just forbid me from using the stove and we’d have cold sandwiches for supper, but sometimes, I’d come home and find newspaper, aluminum foil, cardboard, anything she could find, and sometimes she’d go into the dumpsters at the nearby fast food restaurants to get their cardboard, and she’d use it to cover up the windows and seal the doors, all except for the back door until I got home, most of the time.  
  
“Once I got home, though, she … It was never intentional, but she’d grab me by the wrist, yank me through the door and from that point on, she… It never stopped.”  Spencer looked up at him, his hands clenched to keep them from visibly trembling.  “While she was sealing the door and then when she pulled both of us into the closet… I couldn’t see anything, even after my eyes adjusted.  I was never really sure what she was afraid of, but she kept reciting that poem, over and over, and if I asked to go, to turn on a light, anything - she’d repeat that line.  _Chill’d into a selfish prayer for light_.  Over and over again.  She would tell me not to be weak like my father.  And she never meant to hurt me, but sometimes, my wrist would be turned, or my shoulders would be pinned behind me - and the more I tried to get loose, the tighter she’d hold me.  
  
“So it all turned into an association.  Being in pain, hearing that poem… But it was all preceeded by being in the dark and not being able to get out.  It got to the point where, if I saw the windows covered while I was on my way home, I’d end up spending the night outside.  At least there, there were stars and streetlights.”  
  
Hotch watched the wavery smile Reid gave him before the younger man stared down at his hands.  It wasn’t a picture he would soon forget.  The vague outlines of Reid’s face in the meager light the flashlight offered them.  There were times when it was easy to forget that he had five, almost six, degrees.  Reid had the unfortunate ability to be able to look incredibly vulnerable - which was why he was constantly underestimated.  
  
And now, in an elevator that would be pitch black if it weren’t for the flashlight Hotch carried in case of emergencies just like this, he’d revealed a piece of himself that nobody else knew about.  He’d always known that growing up with a mentally ill mother as Reid had done couldn’t have been easy.  But just like everyone else, he’d underestimated.  It was good, though, he decided - good to be reminded just how strong Spencer Reid could be.  “Thank you for telling me,” he said, voice tempered with understanding.  
  
He didn’t expect an answer, and when Reid just gave him one of those shaky, terrified smiles, he knew he was right in his expectations.  But what happened next surprised even him.  
  
“I was never really afraid of the dark,” he said.  “I was afraid of the light.”  
  
And he did expect the surprised blink those words brought.  “…Light?”  
  
He nodded, looking sincerely across at Reid.  “Light.  Because if my room was dark, and the house was dark, it meant my father was sleeping instead of… rampaging.  When the lights came on, or when my door opened, letting the light in from outside, I knew that one of us, either my mother or I, was going to end up in the hospital again.”  
  
It was confirmation of something Spencer had suspected for years but had never put voice to.  And now to hear it, he was taken aback.  “Hotch…”  
  
But Hotch shook his head.  Neither of them had told their stories for sympathy.  The fact that sympathy had happened anyway was proof that they were human.  It made the elevator car an easier place to be for the hours that passed before the lights finally came back on, the substation rerouted around, they heard as the doors opened, showing the workman’s concerned face.  “You two okay in there?” he asked, but both Reid and Hotch were smiling - calm, but smiling - as they stepped out into the hotel hallway.  
  
“Just fine,” Reid answered.  “After all, it’s not like we’re afraid of the dark.”


End file.
